


VIII. This Modern Love

by notablyindigo



Series: The Better Half [8]
Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 21:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1241170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notablyindigo/pseuds/notablyindigo





	VIII. This Modern Love

The first rotation Joan is assigned to after she takes her board exams (she nailed them, of course) is surgery. She buys a reference book, starts practicing her surgical knots, and sets her alarm for 4:45AM in preparation, even before the first week of her month-long midterm break is over. The word “gunner” hasn’t yet entered the medical school lexicon, but when it does, people will think of it in relation to her. 

Her first day on the surgical floor, she knows she’s in love. While the other medical students and even the interns on the cardiac surgery service are still scrubbing sleep from their eyes, Joan is already flipping through charts and memorizing patient stats (“Patient is a 46 year old man from Yonkers with Torsade de points ventricular tachycardia due to congenital heart disease, in today for a radiofrequency catheter ablation procedure…”). When she scrubs in for the first procedure of the morning, she manages to get her gloves on by herself on only the second try, and even the scrub nurse is impressed. Halfway through the surgery, her attending passes her the handle of the ablation catheter. 

"Your turn," he says, pointing to the place on the fluoroscope where she’s supposed to aim. "Don’t screw up," he jokes as she follows the catheter’s motion on the screen, "or he’ll need a pacemaker for the rest of his life." It’s meant to scare her—a warning cloaked in a bit of friendly hazing—but she’s unperturbed. She squeezes once, twice, burning away the defective tissue. "Excellent!" the attending says as she hands the tool back to him. Joan grins behind her surgical mask. That night as she drives home after rounding on the day’s patients one last time she calls Oren.

"I think this is my thing," she tells him. She can hear the noise of the banking office in the background, still alive and thrumming at almost 9:00PM. Oren chuckles.

"Joanie, don’t you think it’s a bit early to be making that call? It’s only your first day. And you’ve got a bunch of other rotations after this." He’s right, but she can feel this in her bones the way she’s never felt anything else before. It’s the technical nature of the work, it’s the adrenaline, it’s having your hand around someone’s heart. But it’s also the fixing of broken things, the putting back together of lives. Joan tells Oren about the last patient they discharged, a young woman with an arrhythmia who’d spent most of her life unable to move more than a few yards without getting winded. One week post-op and she’d walked unassisted out of the hospital that evening, all smiles. 

"Can you imagine being able to do that for someone?" Joan asks him. "Because I can." 

When she gets home, she’s too keyed up to sleep. She slits the peel of a banana and spends hours using different kinds of sutures to sew it back up. (Years later, when she has to take to setting multiple alarms each morning to get herself out of bed, she will remember this willing sleeplessness and marvel.) 

At the end of the month-long rotation her attending invites her to lunch, and for once it’s not in the hospital dining commons and neither of them are wearing their scrubs. She watches him handle his chopsticks and is momentarily surprised by his dexterity until she remembers that he’s a microsurgeon. Duh, Joan.

"Well, Ms. Watson," he says, setting aside his chopsticks to refill her tea, "I hope this rotation was helpful to you. We certainly enjoyed having you on our service." 

"Honestly, Dr. Lawrence," she says, and suddenly she feels a bit sheepish about the words that are coming next, "I think this might be my calling." Dr. Lawrence nods, smiling.

"I thought you might say that." He reaches into his pocket, draws out a white palm-sized container, and hands it to Joan. She inspects the label. Surgeon’s Skin Secret. "You have good hands," he says. "You don’t want them drying out." Joan unscrews the lid and rubs a bit of the lotion between her fingers. 

"Beeswax," she notes. 

(Old habits die hard.)


End file.
